


Themmus Shorts

by mshakarios



Series: Table For Three (Themmus Fics) [5]
Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, M/M, Polyamory, Rating May Change, Slice of Life, might have some smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-04 18:56:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15153497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mshakarios/pseuds/mshakarios
Summary: A collection of all my Thane/Emmett/Garrus minifics that are too short to post on their own. As with all my Themmus stuff, canon doesn't exist, these boys will be happy and alive post-ME3 if it kills me.(Blanket rating of M to be safe; there might be mature content at some point, not sure yet. Rating might go up to E if I write something really smutty.)





	1. Trial and Error

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically just gonna be my place to dump all the self-contained Themmus stuff that's too short to be posted as solo fics. Contents will vary quite a bit; fluff, angst, domestic family stuff, maybe some smut? It'll all be Thane/Em/Garrus, and it'll all be very short, standalone pieces. Sometimes just a couple of paragraphs. 
> 
> Canon has been taken out back and shot. I am become Hank, destroyer of Mass Effect canon. The galaxy's my oyster. Enjoy, y'all.

“Okay, Garrus, try this one!”

He looks warily at the warm cup of brightly-colored liquid in front of him, and steels himself for the worst. He has no problem with Emmett’s interest in tea-making, and according to Thane at least, some of their husband’s more recent blends haven’t been _completely_ terrible. But those blends have all been levo-based, made from ingredients that Emmett is familiar with, or can at least sample before adding them to a blend. 

Emmett’s new project is figuring out dextro teas; something about not wanting Garrus to feel “left out.” The results so far have been….lacking, to put it charitably. Emmett is an intelligent man, smart enough to defeat the Reapers and bring safety to the galaxy, but somehow not quite smart enough to realize that trying to make tea blends without being able to sample the components _or_ the results is a recipe for disaster. He has no idea what any of these dextro plants taste like, and has been relying solely on his sense of smell to figure out what blends would work well together. It’s mostly been a long cycle of trial and error. Lots of trials, and, unfortunately for Garrus, a roughly equal number of errors so far. 

Garrus cautiously sniffs the alleged tea. He can’t tell what’s in it, and he really isn’t sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. He readies himself, and takes a tentative gulp. 

“Huh.”

Emmett looks at him expectantly, studying his reaction. 

“So….how is it? Am I getting better?”

“Is it, uh…. _supposed_ to make my mouth burn like this?”

“Fuck.” Emmett takes the cup from him sheepishly, walking towards the sink to pour it out. “Okay, sorry, babe. Back to the drawing board, I guess.”


	2. Old Soldier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, have something kinda bittersweet. Although I guess everything kinda is, with both this ship and this game series in general. BioWare is personally victimizing me by not letting their characters be happy. End my suffering.

His hair begins to grow gray. It is no surprise, even at his relatively young age; he has been through hardship, through war and trauma and pain and death. He is acutely aware of the effects that his experiences have had on his mental health, the flashbacks and the nightmares and the depression that he fights back with medication and therapy. Yet physical reminders, ones more subtle than the extensive scars across his body and the prosthetics replacing his left arm and right leg, had also been inevitable. 

His husbands are the first to notice, as the three lie tangled together at night. His hair has always been a novelty to the two of them, both members of hairless species, and they both love to stroke it, cool scaled fingers and sharp claws both enjoying the soft, alien texture. Night by night they hold him, comforting him through nightmares and flashbacks, and night by night they gradually notice the gray as it begins to streak through the vibrant red. It starts at his temples and spreads, slowly but inevitably. He himself becomes vaguely aware of it as he glances at himself in the mirror every day, but by the time he truly notices it, truly processes now drastic the change has become, it has spread to his beard as well, the thick red bristles shot through with dull silver. 

He jokes about it with his husbands and their children, makes regular cracks about becoming prematurely elderly. He playfully teases waiters and cashiers about a senior citizen discount (usually having to backtrack when they realize who he is and begin to frantically offer him genuine discounts, or refuse to take his money altogether; he may be The Famous Commander Shepard, savior of the galaxy, but he still insists on paying for most goods and services). His husbands know him better than anyone, and they have learned to recognize his constant attempts at humor for the defense mechanism they are. They can tell that he has strong feelings about the spray of silver at his temples, but when they gently broach the subject with him, his answer is not what they expect.

He welcomes the gray, he tells them, letting the mask of casual humor drop like he only ever does for the two of them. A strangely content look settles over his face as he looks into the bathroom mirror, taking in the sight of the weary, war-damaged human man and the turian and drell that stand behind him, their reflections both eyeing his own with loving concern. 

“It might sound stupid, or cliched, or whatever. But I just feel like….I can finally rest. I’m an old soldier, y’know? I’ve fought my battles, and now I’m goin’ gray, and it’s finally time to go home and settle down. I look at myself, and I feel like….like I’ve earned it. I’ve done my time. I’ve kicked ass. Now I can just retire and grow old. Be happy. Plant a garden, put together model starships in bottles, all that shit that old men do. Raise my kids, and know that….” He pauses for a long moment. “...That I did all I could to make the galaxy safe for them.” His voice cracks, almost imperceptibly, as he finishes his sentence. “So….no. It doesn’t bother me.”

From that night on, two pairs of hands begin to stroke through his graying hair with even more care and adoration, finding comfort and safety in this symbol of their domestic life together, all three men savoring every blissful minute of their much-deserved rest.


End file.
